


Widogast's Pentagonal Penetration

by the_deep_magic



Series: A Very Critical Role Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gangbang, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: Day Six: sensory deprivationCaleb had tried to tell the Nein that they didn’t owe him a thing for the creation of the Nine-Sided Tower. Their words of gratitude were plenty, and besides, he had enjoyed the designing of it. He does not think of himself as a man given to artistry, but this had provided him a creative outlet for some time. It is his gift to them, and as such, he requires no more than polite thanks.It seems his friends would disagree.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Series: A Very Critical Role Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950748
Comments: 17
Kudos: 269





	Widogast's Pentagonal Penetration

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fluffy apology to Caleb for yesterday! I will not, however, be apologizing for the title.

Frumpkin chooses the salon to curl up in. Well, no, that is incorrect – at first he chooses the kitchen. However, Caleb immediately realizes his mind may buckle at the sight and sound of hundreds of cats, cooking and baking and cleaning, while… Well. While his body is otherwise engaged.

Caleb had tried to tell the Nein that they didn’t owe him a thing for the creation of the Nine-Sided Tower. Their words of gratitude were plenty, and besides, he had enjoyed the designing of it. He does not think of himself as a man given to artistry, but this had provided him a creative outlet for some time. It is his gift to them, and as such, he requires no more than polite thanks.

It seems his friends would disagree.

After dinner, they had all filed into what was previously the Tower’s spare room, newly converted into Molly’s chamber after his return. After all, it has by far the largest bed. Jester did request some changes to the bed just for this evening, as they have been planning this since before he cast the spell. Caleb has done his best to meet her specifications – he’s not sure he got the glittery sheen of the finish just right, but he’s quite happy with the graphically phallic shape of the bedposts.

Through Frumpkin’s eyes, he sees: the salon, dim with a low fire in the mantle and the imitation of moonlight filtering in through the stained glass. He may not have much longer to see it, if the frequency with which Frumpkin is closing his eyes is any indication.

He hears: the ticking of a fabricated grandfather clock. The light patter of footsteps as the occasional servant cat passes by. The snap and pop of a few stray embers.

He feels: a ludicrously expensive, down-topped mattress against his back, another of Jester’s special requests. Caleb had their few nights at the Lavish Chateau to draw on, and he hopes he got it right. The mattress doesn’t transfer as much movement as he thought, so he can’t even tell how many people are on the bed. He can only say for sure that Jester’s no longer bouncing on it. There are at least a few pillows propping up his head and shoulders.

The room is slightly too cool, but only because he is clad in nothing but his trousers.

There’s a gentle ruffle of his hair followed by two sharp but friendly pats to his cheek – Yasha and Beau bidding him good night, he expects. He’s not sure why they stuck around even this long. Perhaps they suspected that the others weren’t really going to go through with it. Veth has also declined to participate, being married and monogamous, but she insisted on remaining in the room “just in case they try anything _too_ weird, Caleb. Seriously, you never know with this group.”

There’s a long moment where everything is still, with only the slightest movement on the bed.

_Hallo? Ah, I can only assume you all are disagreeing on the correct way to proceed. Please choose something, as I am beginning to grow nervous._

A hand – just big and calloused enough to be Fjord’s – takes his shoulder and squeezes gently as if in apology. Another hand slides beneath his neck and helps him sit up. The pillows disappear from behind him, replaced by a solid, furry body. Caduceus’s hands slide under Caleb’s armpits to brace him as someone – probably Jester – lifts his ankles, allowing a third person to remove his trousers. They go so quickly and easily that it could only have been Molly.

Soon, Caleb is settled back down to the bed, his head now supported by what he imagines is Caduceus’s thighs. Sure enough, a hand comes down to cup his face, and the warm lips that kiss him are perpendicular to his own. It’s a distinctly odd angle for a kiss, but no one ever accused Cad of being dull.

A finger taps his chest, then slowly draws an “O,” a “K,” and a question mark. Caleb feels his own chest rumble with laughter.

_Ja, I am. Please continue._

Then there are hands all over him. It’s so much, so fast that it quickly becomes overwhelming. Caleb has become more accustomed to touch in his time with the Nein, but this is more than he has ever had to deal with at once, possibly in his life, and he feels his heart start to speed up. He can call a stop to it at any time – they had made that clear to him – and all he must do is snap his fingers or simply summon his perception back from Frumpkin. But he does not want them to stop, so he tries to get his breathing under control. The easiest way to calm his mind is to focus on the individual touches, to see if he can tell from whom they’re coming.

Caduceus’s hands are the easiest to discern, having fur everywhere save for the palms and finger pads. One of them is carding through his hair, and the other is simply resting on his side, fingers drawing idle designs over Caleb’s ribs. Fjord’s too, are distinct simply because of their size, big and rough and coasting over his knees and calves.

The tieflings are harder to tell apart, primarily from each other, as they’re both the same elevated temperature. Jester’s are smaller, of course, but not so much so that Caleb can easily pick them out without sight. If he had to guess, though, he would imagine that she’s the one plucking at his nipples, alternately pinching them and dragging her nails very lightly over and around the sensitive skin.

That leaves Molly’s hands on his stomach and hips, playing with the trail of hair that descends from his navel. They keep inching closer and closer to Caleb’s cock, which is still mostly soft. He is a little nervous, of course, but more than that, he is surprised to find how big a role that sight and sound must play in his arousal. He knew that intellectually, of course, but it is one thing to know and another thing to be idly gazing at a bookshelf and listening to the slow crackling of a dying fire while one’s friends stimulate one’s body several floors up.

Caleb will just have to use his imagination, he supposes. It’s not so hard to do – he cannot admit that he has never imagined any of his friends in this position before. With so much thought of hands, he begins with Fjord’s. Caleb likes the size of them, even likes the color, the thought of that olive green making his own skin flush. And Jester’s laugh, how it sounds like music, how it might sound when it turns into a gasp or a moan. Molly’s lean, strong body bent over his, holding him down. Cad’s kind eyes, dark with want.

While he’s lost in these thoughts, a hand wraps around his cock, and Caleb can’t tell whose it is, nor does he care. It’s stroking him firmly, bringing him to full hardness at last, and he can feel himself groan with the direct stimulation. He feels his legs being parted, the bed dipping between them, and the hand that wanders up his thigh is definitely Fjord’s. Caleb only feels one at first, but that’s because the other is sliding beneath his balls, fingers slick as they circle his entrance.

Caleb has known this was coming, but it’s still a shock to feel it without seeing it, and he tenses. They must sense it, because the hand around him slows, and the other touches become softer – less arousing and more comforting. Caleb sits up a little and nods as best he can, and then Caduceus’s hand is on his cheek in acknowledgement.

_I am fine. Fjord just surprised me a little, but I am ready._

Fjord’s finger feels massive pressing into him. It has been some time since Caleb has tried this, even on his own, that it takes some coaxing. Luckily, his friends are patient – at least Fjord is, and he’s setting the pace. Caleb feels gentle kisses land on his chest, making their way up his neck and finally to his own lips. Perhaps he’s imagining it, but Jester’s mouth seems to taste sweet. It could, of course, be that she has just eaten a pastry still dotting her cheeks with powdered sugar, but it makes Caleb smile nonetheless.

Even though Fjord takes his time, two fingers is still a substantial stretch, and Caleb thinks he feels air escape his lips in a whimper when they press in. It’s a little unsettling, not knowing how loud he’s being. Caleb’s erection has wilted slightly, but a hand wraps around it again. And then – _oh gods_ – a mouth, hotter than blood, descends on him, not a bit of hesitation.

The feeling, so unanticipated, travels out from the center of him like a shockwave, and he cries out without hearing it. The way the forked tongue flickers over the head of Caleb’s cock on the upstroke, it could be either of two people, but the confidence of it, the way the mouth takes him deep and sure, can only be one person.

_Molly. Gods, Molly, that feels so good._

The mouth around him moans, and the vibrations go straight to Caleb’s balls. Molly moves faster, sucking harder. Between that and Fjord’s fingers, brushing against that spot inside of him, Caleb can feel himself start to tremble.

_Molly, please. Please, you – you must slow down. I will not last._

There’s another vibration, much softer, and Caleb wonders if Molly is chuckling. He feels Molly pull back, teasing with his tongue rather than engulfing him, and he tries not to let out a disappointed moan at getting exactly what he asked for.

Then he’s being manhandled again, tugged by his legs toward the edge of the bed. There’s a flurry of motion on and around the mattress, people and limbs rearranging. Caleb feels his spread legs being lifted in the air, landing on smooth shoulders. Something blunt presses at his hole and stops. Everything stops. They’re waiting for him.

_Yes. Yes, please. Now._

The cock that breaches him is like nothing he’s ever felt before. He knew tiefling dicks had ridges, but he’s never seen one up close, nor has he ever seen one hard. Molly goes slowly, and with no visual context, Caleb can’t tell how much is in him, how much is left to go. It seems to take forever, inch after slow inch, until Molly is fully seated in him, his hips flush with Caleb’s ass. And then, stillness.

_Move. Please, Mollymauk, move. I am ready, I want it._

For a long moment, nothing.

Two small, warm hands plant themselves on his chest, and then wet, yielding flesh envelops his cock, and Caleb sees blue behind his eyes. Jester squirms on him, not even riding him properly yet, but his eyes roll back in his head nevertheless. It takes Jester and Molly a few moments to get moving, and even then, there are some false starts. If Caleb’s not mistaken, there’s quite a lot of laughter happening, some shifting around, maybe even assistance from others.

Jester starts first, a steady rocking rhythm that makes Caleb want to move his hips upward to meet her. But he can’t – Molly’s got a firm hold on him and is letting Jester get a head start. Just when Caleb begins imagining that he has his mind around it all, that he can bear this much stimulation and no more, Molly’s hips draw back, and when they thrust in, Caleb feels like he is being sucked under by a wonderful, terrible current.

But if he must drown like this, he can hardly complain. He is also losing the ability to tell one touch from another, all of them combining into a maelstrom of sensation. Caleb gasps, and then is suddenly aware of his mouth, of how empty it feels.

_My mouth. Use my mouth. Give me something to taste._

A quick kiss, and then a large, furry hand tilts Caleb’s head to the side. The cock that presses against his lips is enormous, but he opens as wide as he can and it fits, if only just. He can’t do much from this position, can’t even move his head, but the cock in his mouth rubs gently against his tongue, and he does his best to suck when he’s not actively moaning. There are fingers toying at the base of his own cock now, probably intended for Jester, but their erratic touch adds another level to Caleb’s bliss.

The movement of bodies around him and inside him never quite sync up, but the syncopation means that he can’t predict what he’s going to feel, can’t brace himself against the moments when they all hit at once. Every few seconds, the cock inside of him (Whose? He honestly can’t remember) thrusts in at just the right angle at the same time a cunt descends around him and clenches tight at the same time a cock fills his mouth. Even his hands are being held, very small, familiar fingers laced with his and squeezing tight.

_Oh. Oh._

He can’t sustain it – human bodies weren’t meant to feel this much, not for long, not without being completely obliterated, and sooner than he’d like, that’s exactly what happens. Or it feels like it, anyway, when everything finally comes to a crescendo and he tips over the edge. It’s less like falling than it is like being pulled in every direction at once, his own pleasure magnified by the thrusts and squeezes and vibrations of his friends around him.

Caleb is lucky that they demand nothing of him in the aftermath, as he’s not even certain he can move. The same hands that wrenched such pleasure out of his fragile body are now soothing him, wiping away his tears (when had there been tears?) and tidying him. Perhaps the polite thing to do would be to call his perceptions back from Frumpkin, who now seems to be mostly dozing in the warmth of the salon. The best he can do, though, is

_Danke. Ich—I love you all. My friends. I love you. I love…_

Frumpkin wakes with a start for what seems like no reason at all. The cat whips his head around him, but Caleb sees nothing and chuckles lightly. His own are eyes are still closed, and his body feels warm and relaxed. _Back to me, Schatz_ , he calls, and Frumpkin heads for the wooden ramp that leads up to the fifth floor.

No one has locked the small cat door that leads into the guest room, so Frumpkin pushes his way in easily. Caleb doesn’t tell him to hop up on to the dresser, not in so many words, but sometimes Frumpkin can read his intentions anyway. The candles have been extinguished, but that doesn’t matter to Frumpkin’s ability to see.

It’s not the first time Caleb’s seen himself from the outside, but it’s always a strange feeling. Truthfully, though, he can barely see himself, what with Fjord spooning him from behind and Jester tucked against his front. Caduceus is shoring them up behind Fjord, and Molly is wrapped around Jester, their tails twined lightly across their entangled legs. After a moment, Caleb sees that even Veth has joined in, curled up in the crook of his own knees as though they were once again a goblin and a hobo wizard, trying to keep warm in a barn for the night.

Frumpkin curls up again, seemingly ready to settle down for the night, and Caleb supposes he should regain control of all of his senses and let his familiar rest. There’s no ceremony to it, just a quick blink and he’s seeing through his own eyes once more. Specifically, he sees a curl of dark blue hair across his nose and hears a wet snore from behind him that could be from Fjord or Caduceus or both.

Caleb closes his eyes and dreams of books.

**Author's Note:**

> This got weirdly meta because writing a fic with almost no dialogue is like sensory deprivation for ME, omg.


End file.
